Misgivings and Pink Threads
by AngelMoon Girl
Summary: Molly Weasley is certain her unborn seventh child will be a girl. As she sews a pink blanket by the waning luminescence of twilight, Arthur attempts to reason with what he believes an expectation that will only lead to sorrow. Short, sweet one shot. R&R.


Disclaimer: Nope. Harry Potter isn't mine. Only this story.

A/N: So I got this idea after reading a similar fic from a long time ago. I decided to put my own spin on it. Read, enjoy, and please review!

**Misgivings and Pink Threads**

*Rated K*

Soft rays from a waning sun escaped through half-drawn blinds, illuminating a woman nestled in a rocker. Molly Weasley was gazing blissfully out the window, watching as the day collapsed into twilight's embrace. One hand was twisted around the wooden armrest, while the other stroked her swollen belly. Daydreams of the child within filled the red-head mother's mind, and a cheerful smile played about her lips. After a few moments of peaceful quiescence (oh, silence was a beautiful thing to one who parented six high-spirited boys!), she ceased her caressing. Humming took up where chirping birds had left off. Molly reached for a cozy pink blanket whose ends appeared frayed and unfinished. After a quiet spell, the pregnant female began directing threads with her wand. It was like sewing without a needle. She preferred the magical way; it gave her sore fingers a break after a day of dishes, food preparing, and all-around abuse by eager youngsters.

The door creaked, and a vaguely frazzled Arthur Weasley made his entrance. He stopped short of the threshold, just peering in at his wife with love dancing in his eyes. His voice was slightly exasperated when he whispered,

"Oh, Mollywobbles... pink again?"

"It fits," was all the ginger responded airily, nonchalant countenance in place. Arthur gave a sigh, coming fully into the sitting room. He perched himself on the sofa, directly across from Molly.

"Well, I just finished putting Ron to bed... poor tyke, Fred and George were teasing him about his binky fetish."

"It's just a phase. Perhaps the twins have forgotten, but for the first two years of their life, they too couldn't part with a stuffed animal. Herman the Hippogriff, I believe."

The two parents shared a reminiscent laugh, then Arthur bit his lip. He broached the dangerous subject again, fearing an argument but determined not to let Molly brush him off again. "Molly, dear... remember when Ron was born, and you'd been certain he was going to be a girl? And we had an excess of maroon blankets, maroon sweaters, and maroon baby clothes?"

"So?" the rocking one prompted sharply. The look in her orbs clearly dared Arthur to go further. Let him test her wrath! The wand movements guiding pink threads along the fabric became jerkier. Arthur gulped.

"It's just that... well, if- if this child _is_ another boy... which it probably will be, no offense... do you want him to grow up sporting feminine garments? I mean, look how- er... _insecure_ Ron is. You don't think... I mean, it's just that Ronnie gets a lot of hectoring from his older brothers about all the maroon..."

Molly threw down her crocheting. "Arthur, it's different this time! I can _feel_ it. This baby... this baby is special. She has a lot coming for her in the future, just like I instinctively recognized a unique spark in Ron. Something major-"

"She, she, she! Molly, don't deny the facts! You and I both came from families with nearly all boys; it's genetic disposition! I know you secretly want a daughter; you crave that connection only a mother and her daughter can share, but... sweetheart, I just don't want you to be disappointed."

"I will never be disappointed of a child of mine," Molly countered fiercely, fingers splayed across her belly protectively again. "Boy or girl, you know perfectly well I will love them just the same. But... it's a girl. I just... know. Maternal intuition."

Arthur raked a hand through his hair in frustration. "Alright, I see there's no arguing with you. Just... make some unisex materials too, or at least a couple masculine sets of clothing. Just in case."

"Fine," the lone female Weasley agreed, starting in once more on her pink manifestation of love. She pursed her lips in irritation, but then relaxed her features just as quickly. Being petulant was definitely not mature; she shouldn't sink to her offspring's levels. Best change the subject to something a little more neutral. "So... Bill got his Hogwarts letter today."

A wide grin split the face of Arthur, and Molly couldn't help but feel mollified. Now _here_ was something they could both concur on: how proud they were of their eldest, and how old they felt as each day flew by. At least the Burrow would be bustling with noise, audience to the development of young wizards, and adorned with childish masterpieces for years to come...

* * *

Reverberating howling filled the delivery room. Molly flagged into the pillow, forehead sweaty but eyes bright in excitement. She squeezed the trembling fingers of her husband, returning his wobbly smile. Then the reassuring appendages slipped from her grasp, and Molly watched Arthur stumble over to the mediwitch. It never ceased to amaze her how every birth was new and butterfly-inducing. It did not matter how many times they'd visited this room; the experience was incomparable. No baby was ever the same; the only thing that remained unaltered was the deluge of love afterwards.

Arthur took the wailing infant into his arms. Surprise was etched into his visage as he approached Molly, but it was a happy obfuscation. Molly's brain inevitably jumped to conclusions.

"Arthur, what's wrong? Is he-"

"She. Molly, _she_. She's just fine... Our daughter is perfect!"

"S-she?" Molly choked out, hardly able to believe her own eyes as a little girl was placed in her awaiting arms. There was no denying the feminine features. Staring out from beneath a sprig of red hair, the first and youngest Weasley girl observed Molly curiously. Her hazel depths were wide and overwhelmed. She whined piteously, lips suckling an invisible nipple. Molly chuckled. She was used to this part; this role. Deftly, the matriarch pulled out a breast for the infant to milk off of.

"You were right," Arthur murmured in awe, sitting down next to the pair. "By golly, a girl, Molly! Mum and Pop- heck, the boys, even- won't believe this! First Weasley daughter for... centuries, maybe!" He reached out and smoothed down the baby's auburn locks.

"What on earth are we going to call her?" the wizard inquired, shaking his head in fascination and dubiety.

"Ginevra," Molly said firmly. "After my late mother. She would have loved Ginny... and having a namesake."

"How about Ginevra Molly Weasley? For the woman who had so much faith in her," Arthur crooned, and Molly blushed.

"It is... melodic. Flows off the tongue, doesn't it?"

"It does," Arthur agreed, pecking Molly on the forehead. "Hold on a minute." The man bent over and began rummaging around in his duffel bag.

"Arthur, what-?"

"Here." Arthur pulled out a familiar pink blanket. Molly smiled, eyes filling with tears.

"You brought it. And... you added a design."

Arthur nodded, tracing the intricate hearts and teddy bears and witch hats. "Last night... I got a feeling. A paternal instinct, you might call it." Molly laughed. "And I knew... I should bring this. Mollywobbles, I'm sorry about my earlier misgivings. I should have trusted you."

"Nonsense," Molly whispered, beginning to gently rock baby Ginny. "How could you have known? And after all those boys... I guess after a while I just sort of expected... you know, at some point..."

"Yeah. They're certainly going to be in for a surprise when we bring Gin home... just imagine their faces when she gets older and learns how to take them down single-handedly!"

The pair laughed, equally as certain that this rare present; this promising child would have much in store for her future.

* * *

A/N: The end! Thank you for reading!

**AngelMoon Girl**


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